This person knew I was a sex worker. It says so, right in my Bumble profile: retired media whore, current actual whore.
He'd even commented onto it, using the words every woman longs to hear from a romantic interest:'Haha, nice
'. And yet I watched as his face contorted in to an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the truth of my profession came crashing down around him such as for instance a tonne of bricks.
"That's a lot," he said, and he then rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. I didn't hear from him again.
It often surprises people to know that sex workers do all sorts of normal people activities, like working other jobs, studying, taking the bins out. We exist in the real world after our shifts end and the red light is flicked off; we've dinner with this families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with this online sites providers for what is like hours.
It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we've at the job would be enough to make up for a possible not enough intimate connection within our lives outside of work; so most of us also date, with varied quantities of success.
A couple of months ago, I ended a relationship with a person I had been seeing for nearly two years. In private, he was an enormous supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune seemed to change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "That is Kate..." the silence that hung in the space where, "...my girlfriend," should have been weighed a tonne.
I don't think that he personally had a trouble with me being truly a sex worker, but I actually do feel that the likelihood of other people judging me – and then judging him to be with me – was enough to create him want to help keep me a secret.